Games of Salem
Welcome to Salem— —a small town full of innocent citizens, traitorous backstabbers, fearful lynchers, and bloody nights. '-x-x-x-x-x-' Welcome to the Games of Salem, written by Hannah, Caitlin, Emilia and Aria, based off of [http://blankmediagames.com/TownOfSalem/ Town of Salem]. Rules *You may submit up to two tributes townies. *If your tributes townies are flat or boring characters, we have the ability to reject them. *Reserves last for twenty-four hours. *Uncropped Lunaiis that do not have a background are required for these Hunger Games. They also must be saved in a .PNG format. *Real Life images are also required. They must have somewhat of a good quality. *Do not ask for a specific role you want your tribute townie to be. Nagging will only get you banned from these Games. *To prove you read this, add, "#MediumsCurse" in your comment. *Links only. Tributes Townies pasted in comments are not allowed. *Please be active. The more active you are, the better chance your tributes townies have in winning. *Have fun! Information These Games work differently than most Hunger Games. Here, there will be fifteen townies instead of twenty-four tributes. Each townie will have a different role (check the role list below) and to win, they must complete that role's goal. Each team of townies is separated into three main groups: *The Town *The Mafia *The Neutrals The Town must work together to win, and the same goes for the Mafia. The Neutrals, however, cannot win with each other (except for special circumstances) and must win alone. Here's the catch: no one knows who is what role until they die. This isn't a game of skill and murder, it's about lying and deception. Each day is separated into two phases: day and night. At night, the good guys will search for the killers, the killers will kill, others will tend to their own matters and some will just try to survive the night. After the nightly massacre, all the living townies will discuss among themselves what to do, and soon vote for someone they think is guilty to be lynched. With enough votes, that townie will be put up on the stand where the townies will vote them innocent or guilty. If there are more innocent votes, the townie lives. If not… well, it'll be too late to continue voting. Afterwards, the remaining townies will be plunged into the night phase again, and so on until one team or one person remains. Tributes Townies and Roles Tributes Townies Role List The Games Day One As the crooning of the rooster sounds the townies all open their doors wide open, prepared to spend their first day in Salem in peace. Though the games may have only just begun at a point where murder was an unviable option, that didn’t mean to say it never lingered on everybody’s minds. Very soon they would be assigned their roles. The vast majority were to be town citizens who needed to uncover the mafia and serial killer in the midst of their realm. And let’s not forget, there was a peculiar individual who would vow to lynch one specific person at all costs. Less deadly, and yet still posed a threat, was one final person who aimed to slot their neck into the noose. “Good morning everybody.” Speaks one of the new residents, Cauter. “I propose that we deliver the best of blessing to our fellow neighbours, regardless of who they are and what they are.” Nobody speaks at first. Regardless of who they are and what they are… ''The impact of those words may not be as important as what may come soon, they ring in particular for two residents, the first one being Manta. In the pre-Salem period of time, many tributes had already learnt better than to cross paths with him. It brought the troubled boy both relief and despair, knowing that there was a lower risk of anybody communicating with his ‘master’. And yet everybody was too paranoid over what he may do. Because of this they steered clear of him… and Manta, deep within him, yearned for somebody he could bond with. Shame that Lucifer’s the one who could decide his fate within a millisecond, otherwise that might have actually been a potential route for him. Lilah Jöllenbeck, a victim of many disorders, a parade float for a freak show, developed a small sense of reassurance. Practically everybody she held dear to her had withered into the afterlife, awaiting the next few souls to plunge down to lurk with them. Entrusted with the love of her mother and Famine, Lilah had since calmed down after the incident her father had pinned onto her. He’d been the one to tear out her heart in the first place, the one who cared seldom for others… now he’s gone too. That in itself should’ve burnt off her wings of despair. However there was one final foe that proved to be mightier than any physical entity: Violet. At that point in time, she was hidden within a lullaby. It was just a case of when the song ended. Meanwhile, Cassandra was eyeing up the competition. Her previous expertise with manipulation and scandals would surely ensure her victory over the others around her. Oh, the possibilities over what she could do were endless. A bit of chaos over who the slaughterers are, a touch of gossip over what the essence underneath had gathered… all cunning tactics in which she would rightfully claim her crown as a survivor of the town. For her, it was finally time to take off her original mask and replace it with another. But before the transition could be made, a different person interrupted her thoughts. “Thanks Cauter. We’re all going to need the help we can get.” Ah yes, dear Anna: A gullible victim to the games, who was now resolute in her goal to make it out alive. In all honesty, nothing but reprieve could describe how she felt when she heard of the teams. It gave her a significant piece of hope which would be virtually impossible to snatch away. Deep inside, Ana believed that she had sustained a piece of her parents even after they passed on. Then there was her brother to think about. The only member of her family left alive. Every second of the countdown, he was firmly glued tightly to her mind. She had to return, for him, but at what cost? It all depended on what the Gamemakers allocated her with. Cauter nodded in silent, mutual agreement. He was attempting to cure himself from the social anxiety within him. Because Salem was a town of mystery, it was likely that discussion would play the biggest role in the entire game. And for that he needed to propel what little confidence he held higher. Already after wishing the best for everybody, he had begun to pluck out strand by strand of hair. It may have been painful to the scalp, but when Cauter was out of his comfort zone it was the source of relief. It was a much better alternative than taking out your worries on an unlucky person, and that was just what the killers might do. The morning activities were eventless and plain to say in the least. There was harvesting to be done, water to be collected and fish to be caught. Akin to the hunger games the tributes had to earn the right to live on the necessities of human life. It was the perfect opportunity for many to observe their fellow competitors and plot some strategies to thwart them. Such was a case for Tomer. It had been seven years since his first two murders. They were fun times which we would love to relive. Nobody could catch him, not even the investigators who pieced together the true murderer. As slippery as an eel, Tomer was confident that he would survive within the walls of Salem. If justice and law couldn’t catch him, then who could ever hope to do so? Pah! How ridiculous? By this point the serial killer was scoffing to himself. It wasn’t like him to get overconfident, but the reality of it all gave him no other choice. Although… there was still a small slit of a chance that he would finally fall prey to his own demons. It just depends on whatever character he was forced to play in the tale. Another pinnacle of somebody who thought before they judged was Genevieve. Much like Tomer she was a serial killer, but this time she was more like an assassin. Back at home she would be paid for eliminating those who wronged the clients. Every time she got away with it. Her acting skills from her younger life gave her the advantage of feigning innocence. And if anybody suspected that she was faking it… she could also turn her skills to iron nails and dunk them in imaginary water: That way her acting would seem to have rusted, but because the water is fake it would still be hiding in plain sight. So what caused her to snap and become the snappish crocodile she is? Her very last debut in a film had been one of the few enjoyable experiences for her. Unfortunately for her soon-would-be victims, she had begun to mould herself into that very same character. They both shared the same hatred of humans and fear of the unknown after all. Horror was very much a pleasant experience for her. The Games of Salem would surely be pleasant for her, right? Of course, there were those kinds of people who didn’t want anything to do with socialising and would much rather instead curl up on a sofa with a book. Such would’ve been a paradise for a certain Quentin Ryes: An introverted bookworm always interested in the ideas of literature. Thanks to Edna the imaginary world was his very favourite place to be. Surrounded by the awe of a human’s mind, Quentin normally had spare time to flee from the evils of the real world. He would’ve loved to have stayed in and read all night, but there was a task assigned for him. One that certainly wouldn’t involve reading. No matter. There would be time for such activities in the mornings and afternoons. Hopefully the townies’ makeshift houses had books inside. Of course there was always that one person who searched for redemption. Though they may have once had a heart as black as cardinal sin, Vassëna longed for the innocent young child she had been in her pre-teen years. Already she was gradually developing her own morals through the beached marine wildlife. Now, if she could extend that towards her fellow humans she could relax in peace. Well, at least that’s what she’d ''hope for. Instead there was a second party she had to please: Her parents. They always wanted her to be the typical career. As seductive as a victor from district one, as powerful as a tribute from district two… and as beautiful as a dauntless resident of district four. It was up to her who she should please more, but the decision in itself was difficult. How could she ever hope to redeem herself for the public if she had already redeemed herself for her parents? Vassëna might be suffering from problems regarding what she wants to do, but Ginny already had a clear image of what she wanted to be: The perfect daughter for her mother, Gretel. At a very young age she was encouraged to rebel against the Capitolian forces. In spite of it Gretel often looked down on her as a failure. This was her very last chance to impress her mother: If she won then she would be able to spy on the Capitol as Gretel wished. Of course Ginny was going to try and win this. Anything to make her proud. Ginny was by no means unprepared to gain the attention she wanted the most, even if that meant the slaughter of a few innocents. So what? They were going to die eventually. It was just speeding up the life process in the circle of life. Then of course, within the games there were people who despised the Capitol for one reason or another. Briar was one of these people and yet ironically the Capitol was the site of her birth. She had been living in a lie, in a place where neon colours covered up the scent of death around in a district that worshipped flesh. Finding herself hating the place she had fled it along with a mute child… only one of them would make it out alive. Not long after setting foot in district 3, Briar made even more friends. Lady Luck, on the other hand, had no plans to end it in a happily ever after. Two of them were executed for being dirty rebels after vandalising the justice building within. To be with and feel close to people who had defied the Capitol: Did this make her an indirect supporter of rebels? Somebody who never made the right friends? She didn’t give a crap. She was who she was. The Capitol could never change that for her. But karma had a funny way to play things out. Aleksandr most definitely had a bone to pick with the games. His sister had been the first to die within the games and because of this; their parents slandered her with great disrespect. She was only twelve… how would she even have made it out alive? ''She would’ve been 23, free from the games and happy in her life. And yet the government had snatched her away to make mockery of her. Just the pure thought of it… it made Aleksandr clench his fists tightly in rage. Hell, the only reason he volunteered was to avenge her and revoke her image as the sister of a proud victor. It may not have been exactly what she’d want, but to him it felt close to what she might wish for. But are the killers extreme versions of bullies? If that was what he was to become then maybe she would’ve turned her back on him. It was all a matter of perception: Something that was unwelcome in a place where accuracy in the truth was ideal. It was almost evening time. There was only an hour or so before evening time, when everybody would reveal their roles and hide it to themselves. The only exception would be the mafia seeing as very close teamwork was needed in their instant. Were there any factors which would allow one faction to gain the advantage over another? For Courtney, one of these was pure perfection. She had a desire for the number one spot in ranks of physical and mental ability. Mental ability, she would sure need if everybody wanted to survive. But physical? That would be of little problem. There were no locks on the doors and everybody could sneak in with ease. There were no second floors so finding the bedroom would be swift. Courtney longed to allow her guard to drop as she wanted to maintain her spot as the best career out there. Really, this wasn’t needed. She was merely a puppet for her father, who had abused her on many occasions as a ‘threat’. Her ex-best friend Roman, however, was the only one outside the household to witness this up close. She almost got away with his murder, but the only flaw in the execution of it was that Roman survived. Only he knew the truth about the sudden bodies around the district. In that sense, Courtney wasn’t flawless. But she believed herself to be so. Little did she know that there were others who believed the same out there in the world. Cicely Steer was left longing for the sense of freedom. She’d tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it didn’t even matter. This young madam appeared to be encased in a cycle of obedience and freedom, even if it had only made one and a half laps of it in her life. She was nothing like her upper class parents and she was not prepared to be a carbon copy clone of them either. The longing of being able to do as she pleased never left the proximity of her dreams. And not long afterwards, she was wrenched from her dreams by the Capitol. Not that it mattered. It was much better than all the lectures she had faced. Most ridiculous for her was the one about holding cutlery: Something that was insignificant for the minors of the district in particular. These minors were the poor who had a lot on their plate and didn’t all the same. Cicely pitied them almost as much as she pitied her younger self. But any sympathy would have to fade away just for now… Last, but not least, was Xander. In terms of his goals he had two different paths. He could both terminate and eliminate the others to fulfil his revenge and bloodlust or, via death, his mind would regain the pacifist thoughts which made everybody human in more ways than one. Perhaps the night time would bring him faith, or maybe it would pervade into his mind and make him go ape. Xander already urged himself on to win for his ‘family’. They were the dearest things to him he ever held and the corrupt government had stolen them from his bare hands. And though they may not approve of him butchering the others (should the opportunity arise), he knew deep down that they were rooting for him to survive no matter what. After one long day of hard work, the sky became a rich shade of blue, signalling that it was time for the townies to go inside. Then after that, it was a matter of whose decisions would save lives… and whose would hinder the peace in Salem. Night One And so, fifteen townies left the square and entered their houses. All of Salem was anxious for the first night. Who would die? Would anybody die? Those questions were on all of their minds as they hid under their covers, wanting to fall asleep but wanting to stay awake, too. Most of the houses only had one resident in them at dusk, but by midnight, most of the townies weren't even in their own houses. For example, take the one that had three townies inside. They were crowded around a wooden desk. There was a map of the town on top of it; names were written on each of the houses with dark red ink - crimson, one might even say. Details were listed on the map. How old was the resident of that house? What did they look like? Of course, the statistics were only on twelve of the houses; the mafia had excluded themselves from the map. After all, why would they want to even risk killing one of themselves? But the Godfather would prevent that. They had to select each kill carefully in order to prevent suspicion. The mafioso would likely be impulsive and blunt, choosing a townie to kill at random. The Godfather, though, was more particular in their decisions and realized that every kill would be a clue to who the mafia was. And nobody could let that happen, not this early on in the "game". As of that moment, nobody in the Godfather's house had spoken. They had been scrutinizing the map for what felt like ages. Well, the Godfather had been. The other two - the malevolent mafioso and the cunning framer - had already chosen their targets, and they were waiting for a good chance to announce them. But they were too scared. The Godfather practically ruled the town, and though they were on the Godfather's side, there was no way to tell what could happen to them. Finally, the framer spoke up, interrupting the crackling of the fireplace to reveal their plans. "Excuse me?" they asked. The Godfather looked up, eyes narrowed as they met the framer's gaze. "Yes?" Though the Godfather had only spoken one word, their tone spoke measures. It was a sickly sweet tone, the kind of tone a mother would use when they were on the verge of scolding their child, the kind of sarcastic tone that let someone know that the speaker was about to erupt with fury at the next thing that went wrong. With anybody else, the tone would have suggested a fight was near. But with the Godfather... it was all too possible that death could be on the horizon. Luckily for the framer, the Godfather would get mad, but not mad enough to kill one of their own... right? "I have an idea of who I'd like to frame," they answered, pointing to a house on the map. The Godfather's expression remained indifferent until they finished considering the framer's choice. A smile crossed their face, but it looked more like a smirk. "You may go," the Godfather replied, carelessly waving a hand in the direction of the door. The framer grabbed a pen and some papers, then And then, two remained in the house: the Godfather and the Mafioso. Immediately after the framer left, the mafioso pointed to a house. "This one," they firmly suggested. "I think -" "No! You idiot!" the Godfather interrupted, and they would have raised their voice to a yell if they weren't afraid of townies listening in on their conversation. "You can't just choose at random. Are you six? God," they sighed. The mafioso stepped back from the desk, their eyes slightly narrowed as they watched the Godfather's eyes pass over every house on the map. "This one," the Godfather demanded. "Kill the person in this house." "This is supposed to be a group effort!" the mafioso exclaimed, a whiny tone in their words. "Why can't I choose?" Immediately after the mafioso asked that question, the Godfather had pulled out a gun and was holding it up to their teammate's face. "Did I stutter?" they asked. "Go. Now. Or this person won't be the only death tonight." The mafioso swallowed. Though they were supposed to be fearless, the Godfather scared them. "I'm going to go kill them," the mafioso explained with a nod, their voice wavering. They left the Godfather's house and went into the town, their knife gleaming in the moonlight. ---- Shortly after the mafioso had completed their task, a very attractive townie was walking up to the door of another. They raised a hand to rap their delicate knuckles on the door, but before they actually did so, they remembered that they had a key to every house in Salem. They could come and go in and out of houses as they wished as long as they performed their, well, job. Some detested this beautiful townie, known as the escort, but others applauded their valuable skills. They could distract the mafia for a night - but on the other hand, they could also keep an investigator from doing their job. As the escort scribbled down the name of the owner of the home they were in, they hoped that it wasn't the latter option. The escort walked through the house, hoping to locate the owner, wherever they were. They had to be in the house, though, right? As long as they hadn't been carried off to jail, anyway. But the escort doubted that this person would be a suspect, even if the jailor had chosen their prisoner randomly. The escort hadn't seen anybody while they were walking to this townie's cottage; however, people could already be in others' homes. It was hard to tell, though. Most of the houses looked dark inside, and the curtains were drawn, too. There was no way to see whether or not someone was in their house. It was somewhat of a good thing, though. The escort had locked all of the doors leading into their house themselves and had made sure that no light was coming from the house, too. To ensure that she wouldn't be suspected if a friendly townie came to their house, they had piled up all of their pillows and covered them under a blanket, imitating their body. It was clever, but it could also make someone mad if they arrived at an empty house. So why were they distracting them? They weren't sure. Maybe it was because this townie could be somewhat... ruthless if it came down to it. They could be a little eccentric, too. The escort hoped that this would be one of their "off" nights - as in, they would be easy to manipulate. A locked door made the escort suspect that they had found the owner's bedroom. This was the most awkward part of their job. Once they got in the room, they faced all sorts of questions from the owner - "How did you get in my house?" being the most frequently asked one. Of course, the owner was silenced when the escort began to do their job, but the moment before was uncomfortable for both parties. The escort's hand wrapped around the door handle, a skeleton key in their other hand. Just as they were about to unlock the door, a hand wrapped around their neck from behind and yanked them backward, another hand clamping over their mouth as they were dragged away from the door. The escort's screaming did nothing to alert anyone of their plight, even when they were able to wrestle from their attacker's hand for a second and yell for help. The attacker threw the escort to the ground and immediately pressed a boot to their chest, preventing the escort from escaping. They pulled out a knife from their jacket and plunged it into the poor escort's eye, causing them to writhe in pain. But they weren't dead yet. They were too close to passing out to scream, but a strangled noise escaped their throat. The attacker quickly thrust the same knife through the other eye, shutting the escort up. Without even blinking, they picked up the once beautiful body and haphazardly threw it into the house's yard. Then, the attacker closed the door behind them and walked into the night, wondering if they could cause any more fear before the sun came up. Day Two The last night had been quiet for some, and it had indeed been the last night others would have ever seen. Few had heard shrill shrieks of terrors quickly becoming silenced, while others were left in ignorant bliss, wondering, "How bad could another Hunger Games be when only about three people die each night?" But the haunting sound of the slice of a knife or the echoing gunshots still rung in some of these townies' heads. Nonetheless, as the sun rose and called the living townies to the town square, its light shone on the horrors of the blood-soaked night. And that was the moment everyone knew that the town of Salem was just as brutal as a regular Hunger Games. All townies walked out of their houses to examine the aftermath—all but two, who seemed to have been lying at the town square before dawn had even hit. Seeing their mangled bodies was not an ideal way to start off the day. The first of these poor victims was a blonde fourteen-year-old who really didn't deserve this. With multiple bullets embedded in her body, Anna Tommie's eyes were stock-still, fear instilled in them. It was definitely the work of the mafioso, whose identity no one but the mafia itself knew. In her hand was a crumpled-up piece of paper—her last will, presumably. Once gently taken out of her hand and smoothed open, it read out her final thoughts. :"I am Anna Tommie, the doctor. On the first night, I've decided to protect Quentin. If, by any chance, something happens to me... Well, I'm sorry, brother."'' Another note was sticking out of her pocket as if it had been shoved in there quickly. This one, however, was marred in blood and looked like it had been hastily written. :"First to speak, First to die." While no one else thought much about the mafioso's death note, a certain thought struck Aleksandr. He clearly remembered that Quentin was the one who greeted everyone first. Anna merely responded to him. He kept that in mind, but he didn't dare mention it to the others. Compared to the next corpse, Anna's death seemed clean and painless. Vassëna Myndwood looked like she had gone through a living hell in just one night. Splatters of blood coated her beautiful, dirty-blonde hair, and her earring—a family heirloom—seemed to have been ripped off her bleeding ear and crushed until it resembled a contorted piece of metal rather than a trident. However, that wasn't even the worst part. Both of her eyes were now just pools of blood and flesh, with bare remains of her scleras and irises. They'd been ruthlessly stabbed out by the serial killer, leaving the horror for everyone to see. Vassëna's last will seemed to have fallen out of her hand. :"Vassëna Myndwood. Escort. Blocking Courtney Dax tonight." It looked like something else had been written as well, but she'd scribbled it out. The serial killer left no death note. It was a smart move in their opinion. There was no death note, and thereby, no clue to their identity. "A serial killer always kills the human who tries to block them from committing another crime," said Xander with no evident emotion in his tone, prompting up discussion among the remaining townies. "Courtney?" Most eyes turned to the suspect, who gritted her teeth. "What?" retorted Courtney. "You think I'm the serial killer?" "No offence," added Cauter—and he sincerely meant it, "but the evidence does point to you." Courtney flared her nostrils at Cauter, and turned to Xander once more. "Alright. So you're saying I'm one of the killers? What about you? What's your role? You know, I wouldn't be surprised to find out you're the executioner when we rip that will of yours off your cold, dead body!" "Jeez, calm down," sneered Manta, rolling his eyes. "Or," continued Courtney angrily, "you're the serial killer! You're just blaming me to cover up your tracks!" "I'm not the serial killer," replied Xander coldly. "In fact, you're the one exhibiting eccentric behaviour. You haven't even claimed a role to prove your innocence yet. I vote for you to be lynched." "And I'm voting for you to be lynched as well," growled Courtney. Despite it being the voting period, Courtney and Xander were the only ones who even voted—and it was against each other. No one else dared to vote either of them, whether it be because they didn't know who was innocent, in fear of being targeted, or simply because they didn't care. It was very silent for a long while. Courtney looked at the sky, which was rapidly changing from an afternoon blue to a dusk's crimson. She then glared at each of the townies individually. "Just," she muttered. "Just give me a day or two to prove myself, alright?" No one responded to her as the skies turned dark, darker yet darker still. It was already dusk, and everyone had to return to their own homes before night completely fell. There was no more time to discuss these things, and no more time to vote on the guilty ones. The thirteen townies returned to their own matters, leaving only the first two victims of this cursed town on the rough pavement. As night fell, the residents of Salem prepared themselves for another night of terror. Night Two The residents of Salem went to bed feeling scared. Their doctor was gone, and the escort had a brutal. However, this did not stop the town from being active at night... ---- Across town, one man awoke from his slumber, only to look around him and groan. For some reason, he was in a jail cell, with a man with neat hair laid on his head glanced down at the other man and stood over him, saying, "Give me three reasons not to kill you." The man on the floor gulped and thought for a moment. His very life was on the line at this point, he needed to convince the jailor that his allegiances were the town, Eventually, the man on the floor spoke up. "One - I'm a member of the town, you'd be wasting your execution, early into the game. Two - if you keep me around, you'll have the best night of your life," The man on the floor paused for a moment to wink at the man with neat hair before continuing, "And last, but certainly not least, can I have your picture?" The man with the neat hair stood over the other man, the one he captured. "Why would you want my picture?" His prisoner soon spoke. "So I can show Santa what I want for Christmas." The man facepalmed himself. "Okay fine! Just don't be loud." He groaned and turned his back to his prisoner. "So, how about we start-" The prisoner was cut off before the other man knocked him out with a frying pan. "But, you never specified that I had to leave you conscious.." He leaned down to his knocked out prisoner. "At least your secret with be safe with me..for now.." ---- Meanwhile, in an abandoned property on the edge of town, a woman was singing a lullaby over the town, but it was in a creepy tone, almost if she was cursing the town. Eventually, she heard a knock on the door, and the woman collected her thoughts and answered the door, and saw a man that she found very peculiar. "Mind if I come in and ask you a few questions, m'lady?" The woman chuckled. "Of course love." She let the man inside her home, and closed the door behind them. The man sat across from the woman at the table studying her for a moment before starting the questions. "Do you own any weapons?" The woman chuckled. "Why would I? I'm not a hooligan, or cannibal, so why would I need them?" The man raised an eye brow in suspicion, but before he could ask another question, another figure burst into the room. "Very peculiar home.." The figure smirked and glanced at the sheriff before the figure's smirk fell. "What are you doing here?" "Questioning the lady. What are you doing here?" "Honestly, I don't know, but I'd love to stay and listen." The woman at the table stood up in suspicion, and could feel the tension rising in her. "I mean, she can't be that harmless.." She glanced at the figure and smiled with a glint of mischievousness in her eye. "I mean, her mother was so nasty, she has more rappers in her than an iPod." The figure looked stunned. "She did what she had to do! To survive, for her children. I mean, your mother was so poor, she'd wave a popsicle stick in the air and call it air conditioning." The woman walked up to the figure and slapped her. "My mother at least worked a reliable job to make money, your mom was a broken mess, and is six feet underground." "YOU DIDN'T -" The woman and the figure stopped as the man wrote something on his notepad. "How about, leave this woman? We'll continue this tomorrow." The man left, and soon, the figure left as well, just as morning was breaking, the other woman looking over the town with satisfaction. Day Three Another night of apprehension and horror had passed. The residents who woke from their slumber yawned, knowing that they had been given another chance to live and fight again. Peculiarly enough, for them, most of their nights had been peaceful… albeit there was that incident in that one house. The neighbours of the woman had heard it all: The arguing, the comebacks, the slap… Everybody else was ignorant to it all. Irritably, Courtney Dax pulled herself up from bed. She couldn’t believe that after that stupid escort invaded her privacy and allowed her to become suspect number #1. Now Xander and Cauter distrusted her greatly, a factor which may even draw in unwanted mob mentality. It was unbearable. However, she knew that if she wanted to live on that she’d have to prove herself, one way or another. Enough about that though: It was the dawn of a new day. Meanwhile, Cassandra had been awake for most of the night. The paranoia had claimed her in its clutches, despite how much effort it seemed to take before anything could get to her. At that moment in time, she only wished that Louis was there to comfort her and tell her that everything was going to be fine. Only letting her emotions betray her there and then, Cassandra smiled. It dropped when she heard the clumping of footsteps outside, seeing as her bed was right beside the window. The curtains were drawn open, unveiling the trail of the previous night’s events. Four people were already stood at the circle, appearing perplexed by the phenomenon. Five of the residents had left their house, prepared and ready for the discussion. It left another four people, herself included, still in the house. As she glanced across the street, she interlocked eyes with Manta. Feeling the hatred within his eyes, she swiftly turned her head away. Next stop: The streets. If you were one of the tributes, you would’ve been puzzled to spot the lack of bodies from the first previous night. The creators had disposed of Anna and Vassëna’s corpses, so as not to cramp the streets in the dead of night. But what would really catch your eye was the fact that there were no fresh cadavers strewn about: Miraculously, every single soul had survived the night. Whether they owed their lives to the jailor or had protection from a hidden vest was left to nobody but the targets themselves. This did, however, bring up the dilemma of how they would fib their way out of it. “Interesting. Looks like the mafia might have found the sk.” Manta said, glancing over the scene. “I don’t know.” Responded Tomer. “It could also have been an executioner or their target was jailed.” “Are you implying something?” Manta growled as he spoke. “Are you implying that you’re immune?” “Are you implying that you attacked me?” There was a murmur among everybody. “Settle down, guys.” Cicely piped up. “We don’t need another argument like yesterday.” As Cicely ended her sentence, Courtney’s face dropped slightly. Xander rolled his eyes in response. Nobody wanted to go over that again, not after the bitter tensions which separated two of them. Reluctantly, Courtney agreed. It was evident she was never going to let this go. Everybody had suddenly fallen silent. In the background, Genevieve observed everybody from afar. She knew she had to end this trepidation. “So… does anybody have any leads?” She inquired. Immediately, Cauter raised his hand. “I do… but first, I must ask a question engineered by my findings. Lilah, would it be a quandary at all if I enquire for your role?” He politely questioned it in a tone which enlightened people to answer him. The insane girl grunted. “I beg your pardon?” “He’s asking for your role.” Cassandra whispered to her. “Oh, umm. Well,” Lilah rolled her eyes up to her right, as if deep in thought. She was just about to answer, when a stabbing pain pierced her brain. “Wait, why the goddamn hell should I tell you?! For all I know, you could be an exe, or the serial killer, or a member of the f*cking mafia?!” Almost immediately, she stomped towards him, brandishing her hand. “How can I trust you at all?!” How?!” Lilah, or should I say ‘Violet’, was about to swing her hand into Cauter’s face when Ginny and Aleksandr grabbed hold of her arms. “Lilah! This isn’t like you at all!” The duo held her in place, just as most of the crowd pointed at ‘Lilah’ for her defence. Unlike the preceding day, there were enough votes to deliver her up to the centre. She was forcibly dragged up there and held in place. “What the hell am I doing up here?! I’m the goddamn veteran! Now let me go!” She feebly attempted to stomp on Ginny’s foot, only to miss by miles. “Cauter hasn’t even explained why I’m up here.” Those who voted her up stared at Cauter, expecting an answer. They got what they wanted. “I’m the sheriff. And after interrogating you last night, you came up as a member of the mafia. I’m willing to bet that you’re the mafioso, because they mostly claim town killing roles.” After listening on to this piece of evidence, most of the town faced Lilah. It was time for voting. … In this entire duration in the afterlife, Anna and Vassëna’s souls had lived on, ready to deliver guesses and leads to the medium within. They were thankful to have somebody else to speak to, mainly because their conversations never seemed to quite go anywhere other than the games. They were guessing whether Lilah or Cauter could be trusted. “I’m not sure whether I trust Cauter to be honest…” Vassëna sighed. “He didn’t seem that willing to let go of the information. It took Genevieve to get him to speak up.” “Don’t be ridiculous!” Anna grinned. “Better to save it for now than for later, if you have a lead. Who knows how many lives it will save!” “Not that many, I should think.” Her companion muttered. “And besides, he could be a mafia member or the serial killer posing as sheriff to try and bump off their target.” “Well I think they’re genuine. If Lilah doesn’t turn out to be mafia, then we’ll know that she was set up to be framed.” “It could honestly go either way. But right now, my concern is with the serial killer. The medium still hasn’t spoken up about what I’ve found out about Courtney, and they better do so tomorrow. And we still have no idea who they are.” “We can always ask tonight.” Silence came afterwards in dead chat. The votes had just been counted. Seven votes were guilty, four had abstained and two voted innocent on Lilah. By this point, Violet had partially misted back within the conscience of Lilah’s mind. The broken girl understood what this meant. And because of it, she grinned. She was free from Violet for good. “Heh. You actually fell for it.” The remnants of Violet giggled. “Thank you… framer. If you hadn’t, my rage… the results… thanks to you, victory is now mine!” ‘Lilah’ began cackling, with a laughter as torn as scraps of wrapping paper on Shristmas. Lightning burst onto the scene as she was placed on the stool, her head in the noose. Ginny shuddered as she kicked the stool away, having executed ‘Lilah’. ‘Lilah’s’ face contorted as the rope dug into her neck, constricting the life out of her. Her lips and face became blue, eventually signalling that no more oxygen could enter the body. Funnily enough, her face seemed content for somebody who just had a semi-long and grueling death. She almost seemed content, both with the world and with herself.Those who voted guilty gulped: Not only had they been mislead to the wrong person, they were deceived into lynching none other than the jester. Cauter could only stare on in silence. Most of the heads had now turned to him, moulded into fury and hatred. All he could mutter was ‘framer’. He felt ashamed: How could he have found a soul like this guilty of atrocity? That’s when it came to him… that other visitor. They must have been the one who framed Lilah. His eyes glanced over the others, trying to identify who it was that entered the house alongside him. Then he met his target, the one who he believed threw off his calculations. Cauter would’ve accused them after the lynch, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He would have to check: Tonight. The residents returned to their houses, once again left in a fog that shrouded their warmth. What was to become of them? Would the jester select them to haunt? All they could do was pray and hope. And as for those who voted innocent and abstained, well, they were safe. Momentarily at least. There was still a blade and a gun out there, belonging to the ones who reigned terror upon the town. A small blue wisp crawled out of Lilah’s prone body, floating towards the graveyard. Anna and Vassëna watched on as Lilah’s soul grew to the size of her body. They both smiled at the new resident who had just joined them. “Welcome.” They chorused. Lilah gawked at them, her mouth prised slightly open. This was death: A process which still allowed contact with your colleagues. She could only react with a different smile of her own, and nodded her head. “Thank you.” Graveyard Category:Hunger Games Category:Oneders Category:Probably Reading Category:The Wayward Daughter Category:PoisonedPoetry